


My Son's Hero

by GinnyK



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-31 04:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15111626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinnyK/pseuds/GinnyK
Summary: A president's funeral





	My Son's Hero

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

I pour myself a cup of coffee and open the front door to grab the newspaper. The autumn morning cold and damp, a perfect day for a funeral. Four days after the death of my father and the story is still on the front page. It doesn't need to be, there are plenty of other things going on in the world. 

My family is trying to keep things small. The funeral service this morning is for family and close friends only. There will be a bigger memorial service next week. Some people thought Dad should be buried in Arlington. But that was against his wishes. He'll be buried in the family plot next to his parents. 

I hear the shower turn off and a few minutes later my son pads down the hallway. While this is a hard day for all of us, it will be especially hard on him. He's managed to make it to the age of 12 without being hit with the death of someone close to him. Unfortunately his first real experience is the death of his beloved grandfather. The viewing was rough. It took him almost an hour to actually step into the room with the casket. He eventually came up to the casket with my sister and I, wedging himself in between us, holding our hands. Before backing away he placed one of his school pictures and a note he'd written in the casket. Quiet for the rest of the day, he distanced himself from the rest of family spending time in his room looking at old family pictures. 

My coffee's gone and I need to get myself ready. I wearily climb the stairs and check on my son's progress. The door is open and I hang in the doorway for a few minutes before he notices me. He's standing in front of the mirror trying to get his tie straight. The private school he goes to has a dress code which includes ties for the boys starting in the 7th grade. Over the summer he and my father spent a considerable amount of time together as my dad taught him to tie a perfect knot. I was grateful for that, as my tie tying skills are almost non-existent and my ex-husband ran out on us before he could pass on the skill to our son. A couple more tries and the tie is in a more than passable knot. 

"Looks good." 

"Grandpa taught me," he whispers as he puts on his belt. He pulls on his suit jacket and puts a few pieces of notebook paper into his pocket. My 12 year old has taken on the responsibility of giving a eulogy at the funeral, something I couldn't bring myself to do. I can tell my the look in his eyes that he is having second thoughts about getting up in front of everyone. 

"Honey, you don't have to do this," I remind him as I move to stand behind him. I put my hands on his shoulders and we look at our reflections in the mirror. He grew about 2 inches over the summer but with my heels on he still just comes up to my shoulder. I kiss the top of his head, inhaling the fresh clean smell of his shampoo. I take one last look at him. 

I never really noticed how much he looks like my dad. They share the same brown hair that when the sun hits it just right, turns reddish. They share the same name. They smile the same and are built the same. They share a love of books and the city of Washington DC. Every spring my dad would take him to DC. The two of them would spend a few days roaming the city, visiting old haunts, seeing friends on the Hill. My son lived for those trips and I glad they had the time together. It still amazes me that my son was able to have this time with his grandfather. Frankly, my Dad wasn't expected to live this long so every year they had together was special. They had a bond that couldn't be broken. Dad was my son's hero. 

"We talked about him at school, the day after he died," my son says as he digs in the closet for his shoes. "Did you know there are a couple of pages about him in my Social Studies book? About how the Constitution works. Kids asked me about when he was President. I had to keep reminding them that I wasn't born yet. My teacher kept asking if I wanted to leave the room. She thought I would get too upset talking about him. But it was kind of cool. Can I take some of these pictures in when I go back to school next week." 

"Sure." 

"Did Grandpa like being President?" 

"I think he liked the idea of being President. But it was a very rough time for the country when he was in office. It was hard on him." 

"Will the President be there today?" 

"No, he'll be at the service next week." 

"Can I practice one more time?" he asks as he fishes the wrinkled papers out of his pocket. 

I glance at my watch, "We'll have to do it in the car, we're running late." 

"OK," he mutters as he stops to glance at a picture of himself and his Grandfather that holds a place of honor on his nightstand. He struggles between holding back his tears and letting his emotions show, comes with the territory when you're a 12 year old boy, I suppose. As soon as I touch his shoulder he tosses the picture on the bed and falls into my arms, sobbing. I rock him gently, keeping one eye on the clock. When his tears slow I send him into the bathroom to wash his face and grab some more tissues. 

********************** 

There's not a dry eye in the church by the time my son finishes his eulogy. He did it, I don't know how, but he did it. He tucks the papers back into his pocket and comes to sit back down with me. 

"Would he be proud of me?" he whispers as he reaches for my hand. 

"Yes, Glenallen, he'd be very proud of you," I whisper as I put my arm around his shoulders and kiss the top of his head. 


End file.
